


Descent

by metatxt



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Battlestar Galactica - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Community: femslash100, Dom/sub, F/F, Fingerfucking, Flogging, Handcuffs, My First Fanfic, Sub Drop, Top battle, Uniform Kink, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-02
Updated: 2008-06-02
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metatxt/pseuds/metatxt
Summary: Helena Cain lets go and lets Gina take command.





	1. Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic! All chapters are in response to the "145 - Military" prompt from Femslash 100 LJ-community drabble challenges.

“You want it slow?” she whispers, pushing you flat against your rack. Her lips brush against your hair, sending a current to the base of your spine. This is not an inquiry: it is a challenge.

You reach out to protest, flip her, take control, but she grabs your wrist before your grip. Immobile, your eyes dart frantically, looking for the edge; her gaze fixes to yours, and you lose momentum. Your composure is fleeting, but it is long enough, and she locks your wrist to the headboard.

Her eyes glimmer as she taunts you, “Admiral Cain, insubordination will not be tolerated on this ship, do you understand?” 

You raise an eyebrow. _I dare you._

She giggles and kisses you. Her tongue is urgent, and then teasing. You strain to move in closer, but her hand is at your throat. She tilts your chin, lips pressed hard enough to bruise. Her fingers skirt the edge of your breasts and you suppress a moan, but the stifled vibrations buzz against her mouth. 

She slides her hand along your collarbone, and then twists your unbound arm, left behind right. Until, the familiar click. This is never a challenge: it is a ritual.


	2. Deconstruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt for this chapter was actually "Military"

“Turn over.” _My clothes are still on._

“Aren’t you going to—"

“Now, Helena. This is your only warning.”

You turn, belly down, breasts pressed tight against your buttons and pins, knees tucked under you. This uniform will smell like sex tomorrow. Every time you take a breath, the heady aroma of your sex lingering in your nostrils, seducing your focus from your command, an enduring reminder of—

*Thwack*

This moment. There is nothing but this moment. Your ass rises to meet each swipe of her belt.

“I didn’t realize you were so eager.”

A flood of juices trickles down your thigh, despite yourself. You wonder how long before it seeps to the surface, revealing your desire.

The rhythm of her flogging bores deep under your skin. Measured and steady, Gina never rushes this part. Like waves against the cliffs, slowly carving new ridges and crevices, the blows are effortless and devastating. You feel yourself drifting away, and you cling tighter to the bed linens, resisting the inevitable riptide.

She pauses, gliding her palm against your ass, each nerve on fire as she inspects her work. Your cunt aches, feverishly waiting the accidental brush of her fingers. It never comes.


	3. Awakening

Gina’s peels the uniform down your legs, sticky from the flogging, wet with cum and sweat. Though no longer bound, you can hardly move. She has you kneeling now. Hands clenched against the upper rack-frame, legs apart.

She slides a fist into your hair, arching your back, exposing your neck. Her mouth kneads against your throat, teeth scraping against your pulse. Every touch is electric; every touch is distant, never feeling the exact gesture only the echoes beneath the surface.

Her fingers curl under you, twisting between your folds. Three fingers slide fluidly inside, and she stretches to add a fourth. Gina incites the rhythm again, pleading your body for release. You offer no resistance. Every breath a syncopated step behind.

She leads a symphony of limbs and moans, but you watch from the outside. You only hear white noise. And then her thumb brushes your clit and you give in. Floating away from your trembling body, safe in the sanctity of pleasure. Her hand revs inside you, and a torrent surges down her wrist.

Though only a flicker, you are unleashed. Free from authority, free from command, free from the burden of survival. The uniform can wait until tomorrow.


End file.
